


when the hoping ends

by brookethenerd



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Pining, Reader-Insert, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21192407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Robin has been repeating the same week trying to prevent the reader’s death (aka a mystery spot-esque AU)





	1. part I

**WEEK 1 / THURSDAY / 12:47 AM**

Bobby’s Diner, the only place in town open past midnight, was admittedly nowhere near _good_. But it was cheap, had long hours, and the employees never kicked kids out for loitering. Which was a good thing, seeing as you and Robin did little _besides_ loitering, spending hours tucked into the sticky red booths studying or reading, ordering a drink or a slice of pie here and there to appease the waitress, Connie. 

Tonight, you had your head tucked into a Statistics textbook, brow’s furrowed in that way that made Robin’s stomach tumble. When you concentrated hard enough, your entire face scrunched up like you’d tasted something sour. It was far more entertaining to look at than Robin’s history textbook, which was why she settled for staring. You were too tangled in some math problem to notice. It was the perfect combination.

“You should be careful,” Robin said, “or your face will get stuck that way.”

You lifted your head from the textbook and stuck your tongue out at her, closing the book and shoving it aside.

“I’m going to throw myself into the deep fryer if I have to read one more word problem.”

“Don’t think Connie would like that. It’s probably impossible to get burnt skin out of there.”

Your face twisted and you laughed, the sound making the knot in Robin’s stomach tighten. She pretended, for a second, that you were on a date, that the teasing was flirting, that she could reach across the booth and take your hand if she wanted.

“That’s absolutely _disgusting_,” you said.

“So, that’s a no on the deep fryer, then.”

“You stick _your_ head in a deep fryer.”

She grinned at you, drawing her legs up to sit cross-legged in the booth, leaning forward onto the table.

“Is that a dare?”

“No,” you said, “because you’d probably do it.”

Robin waggled her brows and you giggled. It was, quite possibly, Robin’s favorite noise in the world. It seemed to brighten every room, expelling shadows when it sounded.

The bell above the diner’s entrance rang, and though Robin couldn’t see from the direction she was sitting, your gaze flicked to the door. The smile on your face vanished and the fear that replaced it made Robin’s blood run cold.

Robin never saw his face; all she saw was the glint of the metal barrel in the window. All she heard was the shots - two in a row - and the little gasp that slipped past your lips as red bloomed through your shirt.

She didn’t see the man leave. She just saw you, eyes widening for a beat before your head hit the table, unnatural and lifeless. There wasn’t even time to cry before her own lights went out and the blackness swallowed her up.

* * *

**WEEK 2 / MONDAY / 8:03 AM**

Robin bolted up in bed, hands flying to her chest in search of bull holes. When she found only skin and fabric, she fell back against the mattress. Bad dream. Just a bad dream. She must have eaten something bad at the diner the night before - maybe one of the mozzarella sticks you always joked were made of poison - that didn’t allow her stomach to settle.

And then she smelled bacon.

Robin’s mother only cooked her breakfast on Mondays. She worked nights the rest of the week and was already fast asleep by the time Robin made it out of her bedroom every other day. But on Mondays, and only Mondays, Robin woke to the smell of bacon and pancakes. She woke to a mom that cared about her wellbeing, even if only for a day.

Her mother couldn’t cook to save her life, and Robin always ended up sneaking a power bar into her bag when she wasn’t looking, but it didn’t matter. Robin liked their Mondays - sitting across the small kitchen table from one another, Robin’s mother asking questions, seeming genuinely interested. She was only interested on Mondays.

And after breakfast, you always picked her up in your beat-up old chevy truck, and she let you ramble on about whatever you’d done that weekend, stomach full, content. She didn’t always see you on the weekends, so Monday mornings were like an addict’s first fix after a break.

Most people hated Mondays. But for Robin, Mondays were the best day of the week. Except, today was Thursday, and her mother should be fast asleep.

Without even getting dressed Robin headed down the stairs, frowning when she found her mom ladling eggs onto a plate. She glanced over her shoulder as Robin entered the kitchen and smile.

“Morning, chickadee!” The use of Robin’s childhood nickname meant her mom was in a good mood; another impossibility on a day other than Monday.

“Mom? What are you doing?” Robin asked. Her mother laughed as she handed her the plate.

“I know I don’t cook a lot, but come on. It’s my only day off!”

“You were off three days ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

With that, Robin realized she wasn’t in Hawkins anymore. At least, not really. Not a Hawkins that moved the way it should. Something was wrong. Different.

“It’s Thursday. You should be-”

A honk sounded from out front - your car - and Robin’s mother’s head snapped toward the window, a smile tugging on her lips.

“Don’t miss your ride!” She said. Robin stared at her, not quite sure she wasn’t dreaming. Or losing her mind.

“But, you-”

“Go, go, go!” She said, stacking a few pieces of bacon on a paper towel and handing it to Robin before fluttering toward the sink. Robin, as if on auto-pilot, folded the napkin and tugged her backpack over her shoulder before heading out the door.

Sure enough, there you were, in the driver’s seat with the windows rolled down, music wafting up the drive to Robin.

The diner. The gun. The blood. Your head, smacking hard against the table. It had felt so real. It had been real.

And yet, when Robin climbed into the passenger seat of your car, you were smiling and very much alive. You flipped the music down and pushed your bag onto the ground to make room for hers.

“Top of the morning to ya!” You said. Deja vu flashed through Robin and she couldn’t do anything but gape at you.

She’d been here before. Like, exactly here. Three days ago, with the same wadded up paper towel with burnt bacon, the song, your overly energetic self.

Your brows furrowed and you reached up to adjust the mirror and inspect your face.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You asked. Robin shook her head slowly, gaze falling to your chest - no bullet, no blood, nothing but the faded fabric of a tee shirt. You arched a brow in question.

“No. Sorry. I just…had a weird dream.”

“I like weird dreams,” you said.

“Not this one,” Robin said, “this one, you wouldn’t like.”

* * *

**WEEK 23 / THURSDAY / 12:34 PM**

You never live past Thursday.

For twenty-three - give or take - weeks, Robin has woken in bed on the same Monday morning. For twenty-three weeks, Robin has watched you die. Whether it be a fluke bullet in a robbery or three inches in a bathtub or even a piece of gum, you always end up dying and Robin always ends up watching it happen. The only consolation is that each time you die, she wakes up to find you alive again.

But she can’t stop it. This terrible, horrifying, nightmarish loop she’s gotten stuck in is inescapable. Never-ending. Her own personal hell, with no visible exits.

* * *

**WEEK 23 / THURSDAY / 7:18 PM**

“So,” Steve said, “you’re saying you’ve lost your mind.”

“I’m not crazy. At least, not yet. But if this keeps going on, I will be.”

Steve frowned and tugged another box off the shelves from the back room, he and Robin surrounded by inventory and new shipments. You were out on the floor, convincing people to spend more than they should to rent low-quality movies.

You’d never survived past today, and Robin was teetering on the edge of a freakout. The anticipation was the worst part of it all, worse even than holding your dying body in her arms, worse even than watching the lights dim in your eyes.

It’s the waiting that rips her to pieces. The knowing. The inability to change it or warn you.

“You’re full of shit, Buckley,” Steve said.

“That’s what you said the last time,” Robin retorted.

“Last time?”

Robin dropped down onto an unopened box and tipped her head back against the wall, eyes falling shut.

“Forget it.”

“23 times? It’s happened 23 times?” Steve repeated, for the fifth time. He was taking it better than he ever had. Robin either neglected to tell him, or when she did, he didn’t believe her. This was the first time he’d taken her words seriously.

“Twenty-two,” Robin said, “this will be the 23rd.”

“Jesus,” he said.

“I don’t think he has anything to do with this.”

Steve smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I wish…I wish I knew how to help. But I’m just gonna forget about all this, aren’t I?”

“Everyone forgets,” Robin said, “except me.”

* * *

**WEEK 23 / THURSDAY / 8:58 PM**

Robin fell in love with you long before she watched you die, but she fell harder each time. With so many repeated days, there was an abundance of time to pick up on your quirky, and adorable, habits, to memorize the faces you made when you were angry or happy or surprised. There was an abundance of time to tumble, and tumble, and tumble.

If she were brave, she would tell you. You’d die and forget it, anyway. What would the harm be?

But every time she even thought about it, nausea rolled through and nerves skittered along her skin and she couldn’t even open her mouth. The words fell apart before they ever touched her lips.

She found herself watching from the counter as you gathered your things to leave. The day was coming to an end; your life was coming to an end. Again. She wondered what it would be this time. Poisonous snake? Falling piano?

Anxiety coiled like a snake in Robin’s belly and her legs pushed her forward before she decided to move. She caught you as you hit the sidewalk, tugging your keys out of your bag.

“Wait!” Robin called. You stepped onto the street and paused, looking back over your shoulder at her. Your lips curled up in a smile, and for a second, a full second, she was going to tell you. She was going to take your hand and pull you back onto the sidewalk and say _I love you_ before your heart inevitably stopped.

But you were beautiful and Robin was afraid, so when you arched your brows in question, she waved you off. Her throat constricted at the thought of saying the words.

“Never-mind,” she said. Your mouth twitched in an amused smile and you shrugged, calling, “See you tomorrow!” Before stepping onto the street.

Robin didn’t see the car coming until it was too late. If she’d kept you on the sidewalk for another moment, you wouldn’t have been hit. Maybe, that time, you’d have lived until Friday and far past it.

But, like always, she couldn’t stop it. Like always, you died - though, this time, in Robin’s arms. It didn’t end as quickly as it usually did; the seconds dragged into minutes and blood seeped onto Robin’s clothes.

You still died, though. You still always died.


	2. part II

**Week 87 - MONDAY - 6:17 PM**

Robin had figured out the best way to make Steve believe her. It was a crazy thing to drop on someone; there was no easy way of saying, “Hey, I’ve been repeating the same week for over a year and I can’t stop the girl I love from dying.”

Luckily, Steve Harrington had seen a few unbelievable things in his day. All it took was reminding him. 

“Maybe it’s like-”

“A Christmas Carol?” Robin finished. Steve’s mouth gaped like a fish, and Robin smirked.

“How did you-”

“Like I said, not my first time around the block.”

Steve sat back in his chair, tipping it so far Robin was sure he was going to fall over and frowned. His face scrunched up like a child in thought, and after a moment he stood.

“So, you know what I’m going to say before I say it? Are you-”

“Not psychic.”

“Did you just-”

“No, I didn’t read your mind.”

“But-”

“Yes, I did finish your sentence, but no, I am not psychic, or on drugs, or just really tired-” Steve _huffed_ and sat back down. “And no, I’m not fucking with you. I’ve watched the girl I love die _eighty-six_ times, and I _need_ to make it stop, so can we skip all the bullshit and just get to the part where you help me? Can you just_ trust me_?”

Steve pursed his lips, but after a moment Robin could see the wheels turning in his brain under that mop of hair. Then he smiled; an annoying, sly smile that crept onto his face and took it over.

“The girl…you love?”

“Seriously? _That’s_ all you have to say?”

“_Love_?” He arched his brows higher than should be physically possible, that stupid grin glued to his face. Robin let out a sigh and dropped her gaze, worrying the fabric of her shirt between her fingers.

“Please, Steve.”

“Okay.” He sat forward, brows furrowing in concentration. “Okay. Let’s run through this.”

“That sounds fun.”

“Come on. If we can figure out why this is happening, maybe we can figure out how to stop it.”

Robin let out a breath and got to her feet, moving to the whiteboard on the wall in the employee break room. She uncapped a marked and wrote ‘what we know’ and ‘what we don’t.’

**Week 87 - MONDAY - 7:25 PM**

There were only two items in the ‘what we know’ category:

  1. You die
  2. Robin can’t stop it (and, yes, she’s tried)

As for the ‘what we don’t’ category:

  1. Why her?
  2. How did it start?
  3. Why you?
  4. Is it possible to break the loop?
  5. Is it a time loop? If not, what the fuck is it?
  6. Can they break the loop and save you?
  7. Is there an easier way to convince Steve?

Steve wrote the last one, and though nowhere near as important as the others, Robin didn’t make him erase it. It was true that the weeks in which Steve believed her were far more bearable than those he didn’t.

“Not to bring it back to _A Christmas Carol_…”

“Steve, I swear to _god_-”

“Just work with me for a second here.” Steve tapped the marker against his chin and stared at the whiteboard. “Scrooge had, like, a lesson to learn. To not be a shitty person.”

“And I’m a shitty person, and that’s why Y/N keeps dying?”

“_No_. I’m saying you have a lesson to learn. Don’t be morbid.”

“Oh, sorry,” Robin deadpanned.

“So, what’s the lesson?”

“How to be bulletproof? Or, car proof? Wild-animal proof?”

“Wild animal?” Steve crinkled his nose.

“There was an incident with a bear a few weeks back…you don’t wanna know,” Robin said.

“That’s so co-” Steve erased his excitement at Robin’s glare. “So horrible. So, so horrible.”

“Nice save, dingus.”

“I was serious about the lesson. Maybe there is something you’re supposed to learn. And maybe Y/N is part of it.”

“Part of it, how?”

Steve cocked a brow and tapped _what we know_ on the whiteboard. “If we knew that, it’d be up here, wouldn’t it?”

**Week 87 - TUESDAY - 6:15PM**

Robin can’t figure out what to do differently. The accidents typically blindside her and a quarter of the time she wakes up in her bed back to Monday before her brain registers that you’ve died. When her eyes snap open she’s stuck mourning - again - for another death that has already been erased.

The circle never ends, never slows down, never gets better.

“Earth to Robin.” Robin looked up from her plate - a half-eaten plate of fries that she couldn’t recall touching - to find you cocking a brow at her, one of her stolen fries in your hands. “You alive over there?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

You fished another fry from her plate and popped it into your mouth. “You’ve been out of it all week. What’s up?”

The days and weeks blurred together at this point, and sometimes, Robin didn’t make an effort. Some weeks she avoided you, some she simply pretended nothing was wrong, and others she actually tried to stop it. She couldn’t remember what she’d been going for this week; only that when you asked her to meet at the diner, she said yes.

You’d only died here once - the first time - and Robin considered it as safe a place as she could find. Inside, there were no stray cars to hit you or wild animals to run out of nowhere to maul you. She had an eye on the door in case of another robbery; she had it handled. At least, for this moment. But Robin couldn’t really ask for much beyond moments.

Not once had she told you. She’d considered it, of course, but she never told you what was coming; the inevitable demise. It meant she had to pretend everything was fine and dandy, even as the weeks dragged her around and around in a loop no one else could see. But it also meant you were blissfully unaware. Robin didn’t think she could deal with losing you _and_ the knowledge that you knew it was coming.

“I think I’m coming down with something.” Robin shrugged and sat back against the booth, scanning the small diner on reflex. No exposed wires, no angry customers to pull a weapon, not even a spider that could bite you.

She felt…okay. At ease. These moments didn’t come often, but when they did, Robin grabbed hold and held tight.

“Ew,” you said and kicked her shin beneath the table, “Are you contagious?”

“If I am, I’ll make sure to spit on you.”

“Could you? I have a quiz on Friday that I’m absolutely fucked for. I’d rather miss it.”

_You don’t have to worry about that,_ Robin thought. _You’ve never made it to Friday. You may never make it._

“Hand me your drink, I’ll hock one in-” Robin said, reaching for your cup. You squealed and shoved the drink safely out of reach. Before Robin could go for it again, Connie brought over two slices of pie - on your insistence, of course.

“Thanks, Connie.” You gave the waitress a smile - which she promptly ignored - and tugged your plate in front of you, picking up a fork.

“Are you going to the dance on Friday?” You asked. Something changed imperceptibly in your voice, something that made Robin straighten and sit forward.

“Like, the school dance? Badly decorated gym, shitty streamers, punch that Tommy H will inevitably try and spike? That dance?”

“That’s the one,” you said, cutting into the pie with a fork, meeting her gaze with a tiny - possibly, though Robin doubted it, shy - smile.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Your face fell, just a little bit, and guilt flared in Robin’s gut. You averted your gaze and lifted the pie to your mouth, taking a bite.

“Maybe…” _Maybe we could go_. The words got trapped behind Robin’s teeth and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t spit them out.

Your face contorted like you’d bitten into something sour and you set the fork down. “Does this taste funny to you?”

Robin’s stomach dropped like cement. _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why hadn’t she kept you talking? _Why hadn’t she said, go to the dance with me; even a rejection would be better than this. This knowing; this agonizing. She was so goddamn tired of things circling and standing still. She wanted to move forward.

“Spit that out,” Robin exclaimed, pushing out of her side of the booth and moving to yours, “Spit it out, now.” Your eyes widened, but when you parted your lips, the pie had been swallowed.

“Fuck,” Robin said, panic welling inside her. Just one moment. She thought she had this moment. But it ended the way it always did - a different way; a more painful way. You, slumping into her arms, eyes falling shut. And Robin, losing her hold on this world, following you into the darkness.

**Week 88 - MONDAY - 8:01 AM**

Robin opened her eyes and knew where she was - _when_ she was. Back at the beginning. When she rolled over she could smell breakfast cooking downstairs, but rather than rolling out of bed and facing the day, she tugged the covers back over her head.

The tears came in a rush, a collection of sadness and frustration and the agony of being stuck, rolling through her like waves. Robin wished you were there; she knew you were safe again, wherever you were. Hell, you’d be there to pick her up in half an hour.

But she wanted you in her arms, safe, far away from anything or anyone that could hurt you. She was tired of watching you slip through her fingers without knowing how hard it was for her to watch you go. She was tired of pretending.

Scratch that: she was done pretending. She was going to figure out how to break the loop; she was going to figure out how to save you. No matter the consequences.


	3. part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we made it lads!!! to the end of this small fic!!! i hope you enjoyed it, its been so fun writing it! as always, requests are open through my tumblr @ harringtown :)

**Week 88 - WEDNESDAY - 12:45 PM**

Robin has made every decision this week as if she were someone else entirely. She ran in the opposite direction of every instinct, chose the opposite choice, did everything differently. While Steve wasn’t known for being incredibly wise - Robin loved her best friend, but his strengths weren’t necessarily analytic-based - she had to admit he had a point. Something - maybe something she’d done - had gotten her stuck in this loop. Every equation had a solution; Robin just had to find it.

And so, experiments. On Monday, she’d skipped school and stayed in bed all day with a notepad, going through the entirety of the first day; granted, things were a little fuzzy after a year and a half - give or take - but she’d agonized over that night enough that it had mostly solidified.

After all this time, death didn’t mean the same thing to Robin. That first time, when the bullet hit you and blood bloomed like a flower on your shirt, and she realized what had happened, it hurt so badly she didn’t think she’d survive it. Like someone jammed their hands into her chest and twisted and tugged until she was ruined inside. But now, it was a shock, a frustration, a door slamming shut in her face.

On Tuesday, she stuck to you like glue. She wasn’t scheduled to work, but Steve was happy to trade shifts, keeping you in Robin’s sights all day. She’d brought you to her house afterward, and after bingeing too many bad horror flicks, you’d fallen asleep on her couch. Where you remained, even now, though you both had plans to meet Steve in an hour; the diner had a new pie flavor, apparently, and Steve was far too excited about trying it.

Having woken up a few hours ago, Robin was showered, dressed, and had scarfed down a bowl of dry cereal. She sat down on the edge of the couch - you were curled up beneath a blanket she’d covered you with, looking young and innocent in sleep. She hated to wake you; watching you sleep - though, admittedly a little creepy - was far preferable.

The thought popped into her head suddenly and overwhelmingly: _I love you_. It wasn’t a new thought, but it only seemed to get stronger every time it rolled around. She wondered what it might feel like to say it out loud.

“I love you,” she said, testing the words; she liked the way they rolled off her tongue. You remained uninfluenced, still in sleep.

She shook your shoulder gently; when that didn’t work, she resorted to poking you in the face. After three pokes your eyes snapped open and you swatted her hand away.

“I’m up, I’m up.” You wiped your eyes and pushed yourself up against the cushions; almost unbearably adorable, for Robin.

“You were not,” she retorted. You crinkled your nose and looked around the living room.

“What time is it? Did I miss-”

“The pie?” Your eyes lit up at the mention of it. “No, unfortunately, that’s not for another hour. Which is why I’m waking the dragon.”

“The dragon? A little dramatic.”

“You’re dangerous when you wake up on the wrong side of the bed,” Robin teased, arching her brows. You swatted at her again, and she laughed. “Come on. Up. If we’re not at that diner, Steve might kill us.” You laughed, but the joke soured on Robin’s tongue. There wasn’t much that _couldn’t_ \- that _wouldn’t_ \- kill you, Robin had found.

**Week 88 - THURSDAY - 6:56 PM**

Every minute that passed made Robin more anxious. It was getting late; it was getting to the point of no return. Friday was a mark you’d never reached, and it seemed that the universe was rubbing it in. On the way into the diner, you’d slipped on a scrap of ice - Robin caught you before your head slammed into the doorway. You’d choked on a sip of water; for thirty seconds, Robin could do nothing but watch you cough.

Steve arrived a little after the pair of you, dropping into the booth and shrugging off his coat. “Did you order me-”

“Pie?” Robin asked. Steve grinned. “Of course I did. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

“Depends on whether you’re paying for it.”

“I’m not _that_ good of a friend.”

Steve’s grin widened and he reached for Robin’s coke, sliding it toward himself and taking a sip. He pushed it back and Robin narrowed her eyes.

“Did I miss anything?” He asked.

“Only two near-death experiences. The universe is fucking with me.”

Steve’s brought a hand to his chest with faux shock. “Don’t say that, man. The universe can hear you.”

“You’re useless, you know that?”

Steve went for Robin’s coke again, but she swatted him away.

“Maybe not totally useless,” Robin said. “I think you were right about learning a lesson. I still have no idea what the hell it is, but I think something’s different. This week…I’ve been different.”

“I said that last week, right?”

“Last week for me,” Robin said. “Not for you.”

Steve made a face and leaned back against the booth. “This whole, parallel universe, time loop, thing, is really screwing with my head.”

“Screwing with _your_ head?” Robin cocked a brow, to which Steve winced.

“Point taken.”

You returned to the booth, sliding in beside Robin now that Steve was hogging the other side - he gave Robin a ‘sly’ wink when you sat down.

“Harrington,” you said, “You get your pie yet?”

Steve held a hand up like, _see_? And Robin rolled her eyes.

“Still waiting,” he said.

“Connie needs to step up her game,” you said. Robin couldn’t help but laugh - a little too loud - and at the sound, you glanced at her, lips turning up ever so slightly. She wasn’t sure, but she thought there might have been a blush on your cheeks. “What did I miss?” You asked.

“Robin was just telling me about her plans for the dance, tomorrow,” Steve said. Robin’s stomach dropped, and if you weren’t there, she’d have reached across that table and throttled Steve.

“Oh, you’re going?” You asked, attention piqued.

“I guess I am,” Robin said, shooting Steve a glare; he just grinned smugly.

“Thank god,” you said. “I thought it was going to be totally lame.”

Robin’s instincts shouted at her to shut this down, to retreat back into the safety of being unknown. But she caught Steve’s eye and remembered the vow she’d made to herself.

She was going to break the cycle. And she couldn’t do that if she stayed safe.

“Do you wanna go together?” The question came out small and quiet, and she scrambled to pick up the pieces. “Since we’ll probably see each other there, it might be easier.”

The words hung agonizingly in the air for a long second, but then your lips turned up in the biggest smile Robin had ever seen, and the regret vanished. Even if you didn’t make it to Friday, she had this moment - this second, this smile.

“I’d like that,” you said.

**Week 88 - FRIDAY - 8:14 AM**

Robin was never more happy to wake up to the absence of her mom’s presence in the house than she was today. If her mom wasn’t home - if she wasn’t cooking - it wasn’t Monday.

It was Friday. Friday. The first Friday she’s seen in over a year. And if she was awake, that meant you were alive.

And that meant Robin had done something right - she hoped, at least. If this was just a fluke - if, god forbid, she’d woken up in a world you hadn’t - Robin didn’t think she could handle it.

She was tired. So, so tired. Tired of losing you and tired of lying and tired of being trapped. She needed to move forward; she needed to do it with _you_.

She didn’t think she could survive this any longer.

**Week 88 - FRIDAY - 8:37 PM**

Hawkins High School wasn’t well known for its dances - with a basically nonexistence budget, the most they splurged for were shitty streamers and powder to make punch with. But even Robin had to admit they’d done well this time around. With fairy lights strung up around the perimeter of the gym, a bunch of balloons, and even a disco ball circling above all your heads, she could almost forget it _was_ a gym.

Though, all that paled in comparison to you. Robin practically had to sew her jaw shut to keep it from dropping at the sight of you. You’d caught her staring, but rather than calling her out, you’d just smiled.

After filling up on surprisingly-decent-punch and the snacks at the food table, you were sitting at one of the tables, heels deserted beneath the chairs.

“I’m surprised,” you said, nodding to the gym around you, “Usually they don’t spend more than $6 on these things.”

“I’m pretty sure the budget last year was $7, actually.”

You laughed, the noise brightening the room, and Robin was talking before she meant to.

“Do you wanna dance?” She asked. Your eyes lit up and you glanced toward the dance floor.

“Really?”

Robin stood and held out a hand, pretending her heart wasn’t hammering a mile a minute, and you took it. Your hand was soft in hers as she tugged you toward the dance floor and into the throng of teenagers. The body heat was dense around you, and the music was a little tacky, but Robin couldn’t have cared less; she had you, swaying as you tried to catch the rhythm of the music. Bon Jovi rang out through the speakers, and the gym floor shook beneath the weight of all of you.

The upbeat song ended, the intro to Cyndi Lauper’s _True Colors_ filtering onto the dance floor, the energy shifting from quick dancing to couples swaying. Robin’s cheeks flushed, but she grabbed you anyway, looping her arms around your neck. Your hands settled on her waist - the distance between you closer than _friendly_ \- and Robin tried her best not to devolve into an emotional mess.

This might not work out, and Robin knew that. This might be the farthest the two of you ever got; this loop might not be breakable. But for now, for right now, you were in Robin’s arms, and she was happy.

“People are looking at us.” You didn’t seem all that concerned by the realization, and though Robin’s stomach dropped - she wasn’t out to anyone but Steve - she didn’t let go or move away. If she ended up back at Monday, this would be forgotten to everyone except her.

“Let them look,” Robin said, pulling you closer. Your lips curled up in a tiny smile - a smile Robin had never seen, like it had been on reserve until this moment.

“I thought you hated school dances,” you said. Robin shrugged.

“Oh, I do,” she said, “but I like you, so it evens out.” The words came out more heavily weighted than Robin intended, but once they were out, there was no taking them back. From the way your smile widened, Robin was content to let them hang between you.

“You like me?” You asked.

Robin gathered up whatever shreds of courage she could find, holding your gaze, every nerve aware and awake.

“I love you,” she said, finally. Finally. It was like letting the air back into the room, the words filling Robin up with something like freedom and elation. At that moment, she didn’t care if you ran screaming, if you hated her for saying it. She was just glad she got to say it, once.

But you didn’t run screaming, nor did you immediately hate her. Instead, your eyes widened, and that smile got bigger than Robin thought possible, and you said, “I love you, too.”

The moment the words left your mouth something snapped above you - the disco ball, it’s wire fraying and fraying until it couldn’t hold up the spinning ball. Robin only had time to think _no, no, no,_ before the disco ball crashed to the ground.

But it didn’t hit you; it didn’t hit Robin. It hit the linoleum barely six inches from where you two stood, shattering and breaking into pieces, mirror shreds cutting Robin and your ankles.

You lunged back, dragging Robin with you, and letting out a yelp. “Oh my god. Oh, my god-that-it could have killed us,” you said, shaking your head. Robin took you by the shoulders, forcing you to meet her eyes.

“Hey,” she said, “You’re alive. You’re alive.”

And you were. Miraculously, impossibly, astonishingly, alive.

**Week 88 - SATURDAY - 10:04 AM**

Robin isn’t alone in her bed. Her eyes snap open, nose searching for the trademark smell of a Monday morning, only to see you, curled up under the covers beside her. You haven’t taken off the makeup from the night before, and look more like a raccoon with a nest for hair than a person, but Robin is so grateful to see you she wouldn’t care if you were covered in manure.

You’re _here_. _Alive_. 

You stir at her movement and shift closer, mumbling something as you come to. Your eyes open to slits, lips curling up in a smile - _Robin’s_ smile. 

“Mornin’,” you murmur. Robin reaches out to brush the hair off your forehead, unable to do anything but stare at the miracle beside her. _You_ aren’t supposed to be here. _She_ isn’t supposed to be here.

For 88 weeks, Robin has watched you die, over and over and over. She’s fallen farther and farther, lost more and more. And now, after 88 agonizing weeks, you’ve made it to the weekend. All it took was three words; all it took was honesty.

“What?” You ask, nose crinkling; Robin’s been caught staring. She just smiles and bends down, brushing her lips across yours ever so softly, and says, “Nothing.”

Maybe one day she’ll tell you how long it took her to find you; how long she was stuck. But right now, she just wants to drag the covers up over your heads and kiss you until both your lips are numb.

So, she does. She’s got all the time in the world, now.


End file.
